Until 24 April, when as a result of James Murdoch's evidence to the Leveson inquiry he was frogmarched towards the nearest cliff face and invited to fling himself forth, Adam Smith was extremely close to his boss, Jeremy Hunt. He was "under the wing" of the culture secretary, he said on Thursday, his "eyes and ears", his "early warning system", his "buffer". They would speak two, three, four times a day, fostering an intimacy so great that even when the minister wasn't present, in Hunt's own assessment, "[Smith] knows exactly what I would want to happen".

Which is just another reason – along with all the other ones – to wonder just what and how much Hunt knew about Smith's bit on the side. For however much attentive buffering the Spad performed to and for the minister, his attentions between the summer of 2010 and the following year were being claimed by another, a seduction to which the young special adviser was more than willing to submit.

How else were we to interpret the evidence that emerged when the two former intimates – the ministerial adviser tasked with handling the "interested parties" in News Corp's bid to take full control of BSkyB, and Frédéric Michel, the company's chief lobbyist – were reunited once more?

In the 13 months from June 2010, it emerged, when News Corp announced its intention to buy the remainder of the company, Michel made 191 phone calls, wrote 158 emails and sent 799 texts to Hunt's office, the overwhelming majority of them to Smith. He, in turn, texted Michel 257 times between November of the same year and July 2011.

On one night alone, on the eve of Hunt's announcement that he intended to accept News Corp's undertakings in lieu for the bid, the two men were still exchanging texts and calls at 1.09am, 2.59am, 3.05am. "This is in the middle of the night!" noted Lord Leveson, not incorrectly. There are lovers who have less contact.

Such a shame these things don't last. When Murdoch decided to release to the inquiry 163 pages of emails detailing News Corp's contact with Jeremy Hunt's office, their proxies found themselves forced to turn on each other. Although he resigned, Smith insisted he didn't recognise much of Michel's account of their contact.

The reputation of each now depends to an extent on how persuasively they can portray the other to the inquiry as a liar.

Though Michel was first to take the stand, Smith was in court 73, accompanied by his lawyer and a formidable stash of folders, almost from the moment the hearing opened. They sat at the back, side by side, on each of their laps a small yellow Post-It pad, ready to scribble discreet notes throughout the Frenchman's testimony.

Smith, who is 30 but blessed with such a youthful complexion that Leveson couldn't resist asking his age when he later took the stand himself, was impassive as the Frenchman gave evidence, only his eyes flicking between witness and interrogator.

Would Michel deliver the fatal blow to Hunt? Offer corroboration of some of the more apparently damning claims in his emails? Damn his former friend to shore up his own job at News Corp, which he still holds, apparently with the Murdochs' full confidence?

What he offered instead, as Robert Jay QC led him through selected highlights from his cache of emails, was a masterclass in the arts of advocacy.

There are, it transpires, a number of key attributes to being a successful director of public affairs for a major media behemoth. Chutzpah, for instance, is handy. The court had access not only to the original cache of his emails but to texts from Smith and Hunt among other records.

More than once, as Jay pointed out, his exuberant accounts to his News Corp team demonstrably bore little resemblance to the correspondence on which they were based. Was he exaggerating? "No." Perhaps to "puff himself up" in the eyes of his colleagues? "No, I don't think I need to puff myself up." (A healthy vanity also helps.)

Flattery is useful. "You were very impressive yesterday," he had texted Hunt after a meeting at the department in January 2011. "You were great at the Commons today," read another on 3 March; "Very good on Marr" on 13 March. "Is this an example of, to use the vernacular, of schmoozing, Mr Michel?" asked Jay. Michel gave a smile and a sad little shake of his head. "No. It's a friendly text." "Humph," grunted Jay.

If all else failed, it was apparent, Michel had one further weapon in his arsenal: be French. Yes, perhaps his account on that occasion had been overblown – he had obviously been "melodramatising". He was French, you see.

OK, so maybe the last sentence of that email was overblown – "you could probably put that on my sort of … way of writing English".

And his description to his bosses of a "one hour" conversation with Smith that the phone records showed had in fact been 34 minutes? "French time." Oh, and while we're at it, je ne regrette rien.

His evidence done, he stepped down from the stand to give way to Smith, a manoeuvre that forced them to shuffle around each other.

As they passed, the two former intimates exchanged the briefest ghost of a smile.